


The Future Mrs. Malfoy

by mister_otter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Confusion, Eventual Romance, F/M, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Musicians, Party, Remix, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_otter/pseuds/mister_otter
Summary: Narcissa and Lucius need a bit of help getting together in 1972. It's down to Draco and Hermione to make sure it happens.





	The Future Mrs. Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of language, sexual references, and minor drug references.
> 
> My Remix couple is Marty McFly/Doc Brown of 'Back to the Future.' Teenager Marty and his scientist friend Doc Brown travel to the past in a wildly modified Delorean and in the process, help his teenaged parents get together as a couple.
> 
> So many thanks to my beta and friend, eilonwy, who patiently waited while I struggled with this story and accomplished an amazingly fast beta turn around! You are always there for me, and you are simply the best!

As nights went, this one in August, 1998, would enter Hermione’s personal record book as “Weirdest Evening _Not_ Involving a war, a troll, a Muggle clown, or Luna Lovegood.”

She’d been busy with her life post-war, preparing for uni and struggling to make sense of her relationship with Ron, when the summons came. A few simple words: _Please present yourself at the Hogwarts Headmaster’s office, 10 p.m. sharp._

Now the clock had just struck eleven, and Hermione was about to go on an adventure. Or perhaps the adventure had begun the moment she’d arrived at the office. It made no difference. Her night had turned surreal, like so many nights since she’d innocently, naively, entered the magical world.

Seated in an ornate chair with purple velvet cushions, she kept glancing at her three companions. The portrait of deceased headmaster Albus Dumbledore was propped on a golden easel in front of her. To her left, Draco Malfoy lounged in an equally ornate chair. Though maybe ‘lounged’ was not the proper word. Malfoy looked as if he might start twitching at any moment. Hermione herself was struggling to keep the phrase ‘what the fuck’ strictly in her head.

Atop the Headmaster’s desk sat the third companion— a three-foot- tall mechanical owl with a line of time turners stretching across both of its metallic wings. Professor McGonagall had placed the owl there, as well as Dumbledore’s portrait on its stand. She’d then cast a pitying look at Draco and Hermione, and quietly left.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy again, and their eyes met. He seemed to be as puzzled as she was by the idea behind this whole mad evening. Probably more so, since it involved his family, not hers.

Wiping his no-doubt sweaty palms along his trouser legs, Draco focused on the portrait of Dumbledore. “You’re saying that, a long time ago, my parents almost didn’t get married? And it’s down to me and Granger to make sure they… did?… by traveling to the past?”

Dumbledore’s portrait beamed. “Good lad. I realize it’s a lot to take in. But you’ve got it, exactly!”

“If Lucius and Narcissa never married, then I wouldn’t exist,” Draco mused.

“Which would be a great tragedy,” Hermione mumbled. “Except, not really.”

“Shut it, Granger. I already apologized for the shite I put you through.”

“Sorry. Old habits,” she shrugged.

“Tell me why you’re here, again?”

“Time turner expert. Dumbledore’s request.” 

She smiled sweetly and directed her attention to the former headmaster. “Sir, you said the outcome of the war turns on our intervening in Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy’s relationship. But the war is over. We’ve already won.”

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. “Excellent! So when you go, you will succeed! But you still have to go. Otherwise we’ll all be eating eel pies in Voldemort’s dungeon.”

Everyone shuddered. Hatred of eel pies was something the three of them had in common. 

“Why does… did the outcome of the war revolve around _my_ family?” Draco asked. “I thought it was always about Potter?”

“This is true. But your parents were needed for an elegantly simple reason. It was your mother who told Voldemort that Harry had died, when in fact he was very much alive. She made it possible for Harry to escape and fight another day.”

Draco stared, incredulous. “You’re saying the only reason I exist is to have a mother who lied?”

“Perhaps.” Dumbledore smiled. “But it’s a very good reason for existing, my boy.”

Draco slumped in his seat. Hermione reached out to touch his arm in sympathy. The whole thing made little sense to either of them, as per usual with Dumbledore’s quirky ideas. Yet he’d been proved right, time after time.

“We don’t have a choice about this, do we?” she asked.

“Alas. You do not.” Dumbledore spread his hands. “I am sorry. I know you are busy getting on with your lives, diligently preparing to do whatever it is that 21st-century wizards and witches will do.”

Neither of them had been thinking beyond tonight. Draco, who’d been hoping to finally get in Astoria’s knickers, glanced at Hermione, who’d been wondering when Ron would try to get in hers. Was she actually going to have to spell it out for the boy? 

“But I have plans for… er… with Ron!” she blurted.

“And I’m hoping to sha… I mean _see_ Astoria!”

“Ah. I’m afraid neither of those events will happen,” Dumbledore told them. “Time is a wheel, and the wheel has turned to the place where you are needed. Midnight, twenty-six years ago.” He clapped twice. “Prepare yourselves for a monumental undertaking. Draco, if you will place the mechanical owl on the floor. And Hermione, if you will open the bank of windows. All of them.”

The pair rose reluctantly from their chairs.

“What is it we’re supposed to actually do?” Hermione asked, trying her best to not sound the way she felt— a wee bit put out at having to help save the wizarding world yet again. 

“Twenty-six years ago, Andromeda Black was a young witch living in the Muggle world. In an act of rebellion against their strict parents, her teenaged sister Narcissa ran away to join her. They became part of what I believe was called a _scene_ in that era. Everyone was still _swinging_ , though no motion was actually invovled. I am merely using the terminology of the day, you understand.”

Draco and Hermione paused in their actions of lifting the owl and opening the windows to listen.

“Two young Muggle musicians fought over your mother, Draco. She was quite beautiful and both wanted her for their muse. Tonight, she will choose one. It is your job to keep that from happening. And to see that she chooses your father instead.”

Draco looked like someone who’d just sold his soul and was wishing for it back again. “How… do we do that?” he whispered.

“Come now. Two of the brightest students ever to cross Hogwarts’ threshold? You’ll think of something.” Dumbledore nodded. 

Then, _“Noctua Anima!”_ he shouted. Hermione and Draco both jumped.

Smoke poured from the mechanical owl as it expanded upward and outward. Its wings opened, revealing two seats and a bank of glowing lights that read, “August 28, 1972. 12:00 a.m.”

The rows of time turners whirred and clicked. 

“Last but not least, or you will look like outsiders.” Dumbledore produced a wand. Like a bearded caricature of a fairy godmother, he turned Hermione’s clothing to a short, Indian print dress and soft, lace-up boots. Her hair tumbled free, a braided leather headband snaking itself across her forehead. Draco now wore low-slung jeans, sandals, a simple collarless shirt, his hair fringy and loose. 

Hermione’s lips parted in a startled ‘oh.’ Malfoy looked good. 

Draco was staring at her legs, her bare thighs the color of pale honey from long days in the summer sun. 

_Sexy._ The same thought at the same time, reflected in each other’s eyes. 

“Please. It’s time to leave.” Dumbledore gestured toward the owl. “Remember— you will succeed.” His eyes twinkled. “But it won’t happen if you don’t go.”

Hermione scrambled into the owl, the seat cold against her bare legs. Draco joined her as the wings descended to seal them inside. They stared at each other, eyes wide with trepidation. How the bloody hell had the evening gone from significant dates with their significant others to time traveling to save the wizarding world? 

The answer was simple: Dumbledore plus Magic. Immovable object, irresistible force. _Boom._

They continued to stare at each other as the giant owl lifted through the open window and the night turned blindingly white.

•

A few minutes and several decades later, Hermione became aware of Draco shaking her arm. She hadn’t been asleep, not really. She’d been vaguely conscious of a feeling of falling, flying, and skipping. All at the same time.

“Granger.” Malfoy turned in his seat to peer into her eyes. “Are you all right?” 

“Of course. Aren’t you?” she asked blearily. 

Focus, Hermione. After everything that’s happened over the last seven years, riding in a time-traveling mechanical owl with Draco Malfoy isn’t weird. It’s not. It’s not. It’s really not. 

“This is weird as hell,” Draco said, and Hermione nodded vigorously.

A soft hiss rose from the owl as its wings opened to release its two passengers. 

“I suppose that means we have to get out,” Draco muttered.

“We do, if we’re going to accomplish our mission.” Hermione was already scrambling from the leather seat into the cool, damp night of an English countryside, excited to breathe the air of an earlier decade.

She glanced about, startled to see where they’d landed. They were backed against a small grove of trees. Just beyond that stood a marvelous, rambling pile of an old manor house, spilling yellow light from its windows like a drunken aristocrat pissing all over his lawn. 

Hermione whistled, startling Draco as he climbed from the owl. “Yeah. It’s almost the size of Malfoy Manor,” he said. “And there seems to be a party of some sort going on. A big one.” 

“It’s not that,” she breathed. “It’s _those_!” She pointed to the wide, circular drive and the grassy verge beyond, where at least thirty autos sat waiting for their owners. 

In the glow from the lighted windows, Hermione stepped forward to run her finger over the door of a silvery-blue machine. “This is a Jaguar XKE! My dad would be in absolute heaven right now. I can’t tell you how many vintage auto shows I got dragged to as a kid.” 

She smiled at the memory and also at the confused look on Malfoy’s face as he studied the vehicles. “That’s the other reason Dumbledore sent me with you, you know. My parents grew up in this era and are rather obsessive with it. As an only child, I got bombarded with all the details”

“So, that makes you my official tour guide to a place you’ve never even been?” 

“Right. Except through my mum and dad’s rose-colored memories.” She grinned. Then, “Malfoy, we need to disguise the owl. Let’s charm it to look like that yellow Rolls Royce over there. Only midnight blue, my fave.” 

Hermione slid her wand from her bell-shaped sleeve, waving it about with a quick set of incantations.

“Granger.” Draco was staring at her intently. “Are you _enjoying_ this?”

“I might be.” She tossed her head. “After all, I’ve heard about this era for so many years that it’s an unbelievable bit of luck to actually see it! Relax, Malfoy.” Replacing her wand, Hermione set off toward the house, beckoning for Draco to follow. “Dumbledore said we’ll succeed.”

“But he didn’t say how to go about it,” Draco muttered, stomping over the damp grass to catch her up.

“If we’re here, then it must be right. And if it’s right…”

“Then it must be right now!” A shadow jumped out from a line of shrubbery beside the brick walkway, morphing into a nice-looking twenty-something with chaotic brown curls, a Fu Manchu moustache, and an insanely patterned purple and gold shirt. 

“Greetings, merry pranksters! Welcome to Bodlingham Manor. Known just for this weekend as Wherever Land,” he announced. “I’m Miles.”

Draco looked more puzzled than ever, but Hermione turned toward their host with a smile, slipping into a persona she’d created from her store of parental memories.

“I’m… Jean,” she improvised. “And this is... umm… Richard.”

“Bloody perfect.” Their host winked, running his eyes over Draco’s tall, lean form. “Please say I may call him Dick.” 

“Why not?” Draco grumbled. “Everyone else does.” 

“Sorry.” Hermione quickly tucked her arm through his. “He’s with me. I’m the only one who gets to call him that.” 

Miles shrugged. “Maybe you’ll change your mind about sharing, love, when you’re far enough out there and the orgies start.” He winked again and made a click-click sound. 

Hermione hid a shudder. Miles’ style reminded her too much of Cormac, except that he seemed to want to get grabby with Malfoy, not her.

“We’ll consider it,” she replied in a bored, seen-it-all voice. 

“How did you hear about our little rave up? We’ve kept it very hush-hush so the wrong crowd wouldn’t crash us.”

“Friends of Bowie’s,” Hermione told him airily. 

Miles looked impressed. “Even I don’t rate that honor. You must be a rare bird indeed.”

“The rarest. Look, it’s lovely chatting with you, Miles, but could we go inside?”

“Ah, I get it. Dirty girl wants to get the tripping started?”

Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile as Draco glanced down to make sure the walkway wasn’t hiding any surprises for their feet. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time today.” She tossed her wild curls at Miles’ admiring look. “But only the longest and strangest will do. Hope what you’ve got can measure up.” 

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Draco’s baffled frown. 

“The fuck, Granger?” he murmured, leaning close to her ear.

“To quote Dumbledore, I’m using the terminology of the day,” she whispered as Miles moved away from them to open the door. “Let me do most of the talking and we’ll be fine. You just stay by my side and look—” 

_Good enough to eat_ her inner voice suggested helpfully. _And, in the terminology of the day, “eat” means…_ Hermione blushed and quickly pushed the thought aside. 

“Just try to look like you belong here with the other rich kids, Malfoy,” she finished. 

Miles flung the door wide, revealing a high-ceilinged, spacious room packed with people. Conversation was loud, the air rich with smoke and incense. Girls in tiny skirts lounged on batik pillows, flicking back their long hair and showing off even longer legs. A boy in tattered jeans, his chest bare beneath a fringed leather vest, blew smoke rings while several people laughed and tried to outdo him.

In both of the far corners, bands worked at setting up guitars and drums, keyboards and amps. Several people danced happily on the black and white marble tiles, though there wasn’t any music yet.

“Draco,” Hermione hissed. “Dumbledore said two musicians were interested in your mother. They must be here tonight.”

“And if they are, then that must mean she is, too.” Draco’s face lost its puzzled scowl as he focused on the crowd, searching the faces for one that looked familiar. 

“Miles,” Hermione walked over to pull their host away from the group blowing competitive smoke rings. “Who’s playing here tonight?”

“If you dig music, you just got lucky,” he replied. “It’s Derek Stockbridge with Who, What, and Witch and Peter Cresswell of Pan and the Hooks.”

“Bloody stupid band names,” Draco muttered. 

Hermione stepped on his toes and pressed hard. “I said to let _me_ do the talking,” she hissed. 

Miles gave them both an odd look before continuing. “Derek’s and Peter’s fathers were ace RAF fighter pilots, big rivals with just no fear. Their sons grew up to be musical rivals. They’re both in love with the same girl. Tonight, we’re having a battle of the bands. Winner gets _her_.”

Miles jerked his head toward the fireplace just as the crowd parted, revealing two girls seated back to back on a large ottoman. One was small, dark-haired, dusky and pretty, like a Celtic princess might be. She had a deck of cards balanced on her knees and was reading Tarot for a boy sitting cross-legged on the floor at her feet. The other girl was tall and pale with an icy, almost otherworldly beauty. Her blonde hair spilled past her shoulders to her waist, held in place by a woven headband in a runic pattern. Her miniscule skirt and tall boots showed off her long, slender legs. She watched the gathering with a look that was almost bored, yet clearly missed nothing.

“They call themselves Andromeda and Narcissa,” said Miles. “But of course that can’t be their real names. No one knows who they are or where they’re from.”

Hermione heard Draco’s breath catch as his already pale face turned almost white. “Moth— ” he began. 

“Yeah, moths to the flame,” Miles said, preventing Hermione from having to crush Draco’s toes a second time. “Derek and Peter are both in love with the blonde one. She claims to be unable to choose. That’s why we’re having a battle of the bands. Sort of a musical jousting contest.” He grinned. “It’s winner-take-all, with the prize being the fair lady Narcissa.” He peered closely at Draco. “What’s the matter, Dick? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t tell me you’re in love with her, too?”

“I told you I’m the only one who calls him Dick,” Hermione interrupted. “And he’s with _me_. Narcissa’s just someone he used to know, is all. It’s… shocking to see her here.”

Miles gave Draco a sympathetic look. “I’d say Jean needs to let you speak for yourself, man. But if smokin’ and trippin’ are all you’ve done today, then you’re probably in good hands. If you happen to decide you’re not, well, I’m available.” He winked and moved off into the crowd.

Draco appeared not to have heard Miles. He was staring and staring, his eyes bouncing from Narcissa to Andromeda and back to Narcissa again. Hermione wondered if he might be going into shock. At the very least, his mouth was about to drop open.

It didn’t help that Narcissa slowly turned her head and stared back at him with a cool, appraising gaze. She fished a cigarette from the bag by her feet and lit it from the one Andromeda was smoking. 

Then, “If either of you is interested in my sister, don’t be,” Draco’s future mother announced. “She’s eloping tonight. I’m not invited. But that keeps me in the clear with our parents, doesn’t it? That is, if I’m ever allowed to go home again.” She blew a pale blue stream of smoke and rose gracefully from the ottoman, strolling over to Draco and Hermione with a prowl worthy of the Parisian catwalks. 

Up close, Hermione could see how young she was. Perhaps seventeen? Younger than either Draco or herself, at this point. Though not by much.

“In case you’re wondering,” Narcissa smiled. “I’m just here for the bands.” 

Draco’s lips parted. “Mot—” he began for the second time tonight.

“No, not Mott the Hoople.” Narcissa shook her head. “They’re a fave of mine, too, but I’m not dating anyone from that band.”

Hermione decided it was time to begin solving the problem that Dumbledore had sent them to solve. “I’m Jean,” she announced. “This is Richard.” 

“Oooh. May I call him—”

“No!” Draco yelped.

“Fine. I suppose you’re with her?” Narcissa jerked her pretty chin at Hermione.

“Yes, he’s with me.” Linking her fingers through Draco’s, Hermione felt the sudden jolt of his bare skin contacting hers for the first time. His fingers were long and slender as they twined with hers, creating an unexpected warmth that traveled straight to other areas of her body.

Bloody hell, things were tingling where they shouldn’t be at his touch. Yes, he looked damned fine in his retro Muggle gear, but they were here to do a job and get back to the future, where Ron was waiting to… not shag her? 

She glanced up through her lashes at Draco. He looked startled, his attention no longer on his mother but only on her. No time to sort this out now, they had a job to do. 

“Miles tells us you’re called Narcissa,” she said.

“That really is my name, though this lot seems to think it’s made up.” The other girl laughed. “As if “Narcissa” is any weirder than Daystar, Groovehog, or Toke-ien.”

The reference to names gave Hermione the opening she needed. “Do you happen to know Lucius Malfoy, by the way?”

Hermione noticed the brief hint of lost-ness in other girl’s eyes, and the way she tucked one arm against her middle, as though walling herself off from surroundings that didn’t feel quite right.

“How do you know Lucius?” Narcissa asked coolly. “He’s not… part of this scene.” She dropped her cigarette onto the marble tiles and ground it out with the toe of her boot.

Neither are you, Miss Black, Hermione thought. Time for a challenge. “I asked you first.”

“Lucius and I were at school together.” 

“Together how?” Draco blurted.

Narcissa’s eyes widened but before she could answer, someone grabbed her hand and spun her away toward the far corner, where one of the bands was setting up. 

Glancing back at them with what Hermione could have sworn was a look of pleading, she called, “Come and meet Derek!”

Draco and Hermione followed as Derek straddled his drum stool and pulled Narcissa down in front of him. He wore an olive-green military jacket with a button proclaiming “Frodo Lives” pinned to the chest, his face handsome beneath a tangled bird’s nest of dark blond hair. 

“Does anyone in 1972 not have unruly hair?” Hermione murmured. Then, “Stop it, Malfoy,” as Draco shot a pointed glance at her curls. 

“No doubt you’ve heard of my band, Who, What, and Witch.” Derek’s arms encircled Narcissa and he placed one hand high up on her bare leg. “After tonight I’m hoping to claim this pretty dolly as my ‘witch.’ My magical muse.” 

Hermione saw the horror show unfolding in Draco’s eyes. His mother had already hinted she found _him_ attractive. Now Narcissa was sitting pressed against a Muggle musician’s crotch with the man’s hand on her thigh. 

“How do you know she’s a witch?” Draco snarled before Hermione could stop him.

“Easy, mate. No need to do the irate boogie,” Derek soothed. “What I know is she’s my mystic lady. My sliding, riding sorceress of song.” He smiled. “With Narcissa as my muse, I can’t lose.”

“Yeah, well, if any of those are your lyrics then you already have.”

“What’s with you, man? Narcissa, is this bloke into you?” Derek was beginning to be irate himself. 

“He could be. Right now, he’s a friend.” 

Narcissa wriggled off the drum stool and grabbed Draco’s hand. “Come on, Richard. Let’s go upstairs to the hookah.” 

“A friend?” Derek called after them. “In the same way that Peter Cresswell is a ‘friend?’ And me? How many do you need, love?”

Narcissa strode in the other direction, pulling Draco with her while Hermione followed along behind. Their path to the stairs was suddenly blocked by a slim young man with long black hair, a goatee, and devilish good looks. An electric guitar hung by a strap from his neck. 

“My Lady Muse! There you are!” He began to strum the guitar unplugged, slithering between Narcissa and Draco while singing loudly. _“She’s racing like a fireball, dancing like a ghost. She’s Gemini and I don’t know which one I like the most.”*_

“If I were her,” Draco muttered, “I’d be insulted about not inspiring better songs.”

“At least no one wrote ‘Do the Hippogryff’ about her,” Hermione whispered, and Draco snorted.

“Keep in mind we’re talking about my mother.”

“True, but I still almost made you laugh.”

“Which is saying something, since this night is about as much fun as getting Truth-or-Dared into kissing Goyle.”

Hermione was about to ask if that had really happened when she noticed that Peter Cresswell had backed Narcissa against a wall and was nuzzling her neck. 

Draco reached into his sleeve, where he’d hidden his wand. “I’ll hex his balls off.” 

“Malfoy, no. We’re here to save her, remember?”

“If his balls are gone, then she’s safe.”

“That’s _not_ how we’re going to do it. She seems to have fancied you at first sight. Turn on the charm and get her away from him.”

“You’re asking me to flirt with my own mother? I’d sooner chat up Miles.”

“Just do it. We need to speak to her alone. Get her talking about your dad again.”

Draco glared at Hermione, then at Peter, who had his forehead pressed against Narcissa’s and was stroking her cheek. 

“Moth… Er, Narcissa.” Draco grabbed her arm and pulled, until she stumbled away from Peter. So much for Malfoy charm. “We need to speak with you.” 

“Hey, man, hands off! Two of us have already claimed her!” the musician protested.

“Yeah, but she hasn’t chosen either of you fuckwits. And if Jean has her way, she never will!” 

“Jean fancies her, too?” Peter scanned Hermione from head to toe, an impish grin lighting his face. “Well, this competition just got bloody _hot!_ Does Derek know?”

“He does not.” Hermione tossed her curls. 

“Hey, Stockbridge!” Peter ran off in the other direction, guitar banging against his hip. “Wait ‘til I tell him there’s a _bird_ vying for our muse!” 

Hermione sighed. “More terminology of the day,” she told Draco, who was checking the air above their heads. “Come on.” She grabbed Narcissa’s other arm. “This way.” 

Searching for privacy, she steered them toward a room with French doors standing open to a cool, August night and the three of them slipped outside.

On the terrace they came face to face with Andromeda, wrapped in a long, velvet traveling cloak, her wizarding garb blending well with the fashion choices of 1972.

“Cissa, there you are!” Then, “Who’s this?” Andromeda’s gaze roved over Draco, her eyes lingering on his face. “Do I know you? And please don’t bloody tell me you fancy her, too.” 

“I don’t. At least, not the way you’re thinking.” 

“Good, because she’s spoken for. You also, I think, though you might not know it yet.” Andromeda smiled slyly at Hermione. “I’d love to see what the Tarot would say about you two. If there were time.” 

Narcissa was staring at her sister with a stricken look. “You’re leaving now?” she asked.

Andromeda nodded. “It’s auspicious for Ted and me to be married at dawn.”

She held out her arms and Naricssa hugged her tightly, bending to accommodate the shorter girl’s stature. 

“I’ll miss you so much. Can’t I go with you?” The ice princess suddenly melted into a puddle of tears.

“We’ve been over this, sweetheart. There’s no doubt I’ll be cast out of the family forever. So be it, but I don’t want that happening to you. You’ve had a fun adventure, ‘Cissa. Now it’s over. Your path lies in the wizarding world.”

Then, “Help her,” Andromeda mouthed to Draco and Hermione. “Tell her what you are.” She glanced at Draco’s sleeve, where his wand had slipped down, exposing two inches of its length.

Hermione nodded, tugging at her own sleeve to show her wand.

“We’ll meet again, darling,” Andromeda kissed Narcissa’s cheek. “Someday, it will happen. For now, go home.” She turned and ran down the terrace steps toward the woods, blowing a final goodbye kiss over her shoulder.

Hermione took a deep breath and dove in. “Your sister needs a private spot to Apparate,” she said.

“What?” Narcissa looked startled, in spite of the tears coursing down her cheeks. “How could you know that, unless…”

“We’re a witch and a wizard? We are. And we’re here to help you go home.”

“I can’t go home!” Narcissa’s voice broke on a sob. “I ran away, to be with Andromeda. I was so tired of Father always making demands.” She mimicked a booming, parental voice. “Do this, Narcissa. Dress _this_ way, act _that_ way. Date this wizard. Now, it’s time you were betrothed!” I wanted a little fun, is all. A little freedom, for just a little while. But now, our house is warded against me and Andromeda, both! Our parents don’t approve of ‘consorting with Muggles,’ as Father put it.” 

She looked from Draco to Hermione and back again. “You must know Lucius, or you wouldn’t have mentioned his name. He asked me to marry him, before I ran away. I said I needed time to think. We’ll, now I’ve thought, and my answer is yes. I love him, I really do. But,” her voice broke and she looked very young and lost somehow. “His home may be warded against me, too! I don’t know how you know him, but since you do… then maybe you could speak to him for me? Tell him how much I miss him?”

Draco and Hermione exchanged a look. Dumbledore had been right that they would succeed. Narcissa needed no persuading, only someone to help her access Malfoy Manor. 

“How far away does Lucius live?” Draco asked.

“Just the other side of the woods,” Narcissa waved one hand toward the trees. “I insisted we hold the Battle of the Bands at Bodlingham because it’s so near. In case I wanted to… go back. And I do! Want to go back, I mean.” Her blue eyes were wide and damp. “Having Derek and Peter fight over me has been fun. But tonight, I’m supposed to _sleep_ with one of them. I’ve heard all the Muggle talk about free love. It sounded like such a jolly lark at first. Now, I just want Lucius!” She dissolved into tears again.

Draco reached out and pulled Narcissa into a hug. He’d never been able to stand seeing his mother cry. “We’ll help you,” he said gently. “It’ll be easier than you think.” 

“Thank you, Richard.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Draco almost lost his balance struggling to escape.

“Couldn’t you at least _pretend_ to like me, Dick?” Narcissa’s laugh was like the sun after rain. “Jean, you’re a lucky girl.”

Hermione blushed. “Just go with it,” she told Draco, linking arms with the other witch and heading down the steps to the lawn and woods beyond. 

“There you are!” A shout from the doorway as Miles stumbled onto the terrace, very drunk at the very least. “Where are you going? The Battle of the Bands is about to begin!” Then, “Wait a minute! What the fuck?” He took in the sight of the musicians’ muse with her arm tucked firmly through Hermione’s. “Narcissa, did you just choose Jean?!” Swaying, Miles turned back to the open doorway. “Peter! Derek! Come quick!” he yelled. “It’s happened! Your muse has chosen the _bird_ over you lot!” 

Draco grabbed Narcissa’s other arm and the three of them ran for the trees as partygoers spilled onto the terrace. 

“Ooh, they’re making it a threesome! Orgy in the woods, everybody! Orgy in the woods!” Miles ran after them, shedding his clothes as he went, flashing his pale, bare bum as he struggled to catch them up, then screaming as he fell headlong into a holly bush. 

Others started pulling off their clothes and somewhere over the noise of the crowd, Peter Cresswell began to sing loudly and creatively about a wicked, fickle muse, whose soul was fit only to feed the fires of Mordor.

What happened next was never known to Draco, Hermione, or Narcissa. They ran until the sounds began to fade, jumped across a small stream, and then Apparated straight to the edge of the Malfoy estate.

*

The dark fabric of the sky above Malfoy Manor was cloudless, dusted with the sparkle of a thousand stars, red Mars showing faintly to the west.

“Andromeda would say that’s auspicious,” Narcissa murmured, glancing at the beauty overhead.

With a jolt, Hermione thought of the Tarot-reading, middle Black sister, on her way this night to marry Ted Tonks. Would the cards or stars someday foretell her future daughter’s death?

She turned to Draco, wondering if he’d had the same disturbing thought. But his eyes were fixed on his home, standing tall and stately beneath the sky, its windows glowing with quiet welcome. 

“I…” he began, then cleared his throat. “I’d rather not go any farther. I think it would be best to wait here. In case Lucius might view me as a rival.”

Narcissa’s laugh was pretty and musical. “He won’t think that, with the greeting I plan to give him.” But Hermione saw the paleness of Draco’s cheeks, the tightness at the corners of his mouth. He really didn’t want to enter his future home, see his father as a young man, though she wasn’t quite certain as to why. For tonight, he’d had enough.

“I’ll go with you,” she told Narcissa impulsively. “Just to make sure you’re truly welcome, of course.”

The other girl nodded gratefully. After her adventures in the Muggle world, there was always the chance she’d be turned away. 

Leaving Draco beside a fish pond beneath a small copse of trees, the two witches set off across the damp grass. No wards kept them out as they moved forward, no alarms sounded as they reached the front door.

In spite of the lateness of the hour, the door was opened almost immediately by a house elf, who ushered them into the huge foyer. Though large with soaring ceilings, it was an old-fashioned space, dark with stone and heavily carved wood, dim in spite of the glowing lamps scattered here and there. 

And full of potent memories for Hermione, intimate knowledge of things that hadn’t happened yet, in 1972, but were still to come. There was no escape from the feelings this house evoked. Hermione’s senses reeled and she swayed, catching at Narcissa’s arm.

The other girl gave her a curious look, the moment broken by a voice from the staircase.

“Cissa!” 

There was much of Draco in the face of nineteen-year-old Lucius Malfoy, his long, gleaming hair tied back in a neat queue. 

Through her shock, Hermione felt moved. Draco’s future father didn’t castigate Narcissa, didn’t treat her coldly. Instead, he ran down the stairs and held out his arms, as if he knew exactly what she needed. Narcissa went straight into his embrace and Lucius held her close, murmuring that her sexy skirt and boots were perhaps the only thing that Muggles had ever done right, and causing her to giggle through her tears. 

Then Lucius glanced at Hermione. He said nothing, merely gave her an odd look and turned away dismissively, his attention fully engaged by his future bride.

But Hermione sensed the weight of that look and the heavier mass of the Manor all around her. It felt as though it could crush her, tons of stone and the future aversion of a man who didn’t know her at all but would despise her in years to come. 

She should have chosen to stay away. Like Draco had done, though for very different reasons. Were they so very different after all? 

Whirling, she stumbled for the door, ignoring Narcissa who called after her. “Jean? Where are you going? I wanted you to meet Lucius!”

Then, “Thank you for helping me…” Narcissa’s voice trailed off as Hermione rushed outside, almost tripping on the steps, her heart pounding a rapid echo: _get away, get away, get away_.

She was running as if ghosts were chasing her, running across the grass and straight into another Malfoy’s arms. But that didn’t matter. There really wasn’t anyone else who could understand.

Draco caught her up, her breath escaping in a sound somewhere between a strangled laugh and a sob of relief. In their world, what would happen later at the Manor was already past. They were free.

“What’s happened?” Draco asked her. “Was Father… cruel to you?” 

“We didn’t even speak,” she gasped, her heart beginning to slow, her breathing settling back to normal. “Being there was just… hard, that’s all.”

“I should have gone with you. It was damned cowardly of me to—”

“No, Draco. You didn’t want to go, didn’t need that experience. I was so caught up in helping Narcissa that… I had no idea it would feel as bad as it did.”

Draco nodded, his arms tight around her. “It would have hurt to see my father, young and excited about his future. To enter my home as it was before I was born. As it might have stayed, if Voldemort had never taken it over, never turned it into… something else.”

Hermione hugged him back. “You should know— Lucius barely noticed I was there, Draco,” she said lightly. “All he really saw was your mother. They’re soul mates, I think.”

“I’ve always known they were.” Draco’s reply was quiet, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I want that someday, too, and I’m beginning to think Astoria isn’t….” He took a step backward and looked down into Hermione’s face. “Thank you, Granger. For everything. I really felt I was just along for the ride on this one. But that I somehow needed to be here.” 

“Dumbledore knows best, even from his view as just-a-portrait.” She smiled “And you’re welcome. We succeeded, like he said we would. Let’s find our owl and go back to 1998.”

“Where Voldemort is dead and rotting in a special hell. One for wizards with multiple pieces of soul.”

Suddenly he leaned forward. The kiss caught Hermione off guard, Draco’s mouth landing on hers just as she opened it to laugh at what he’d said. Their teeth clinked, an awkwardness that was quickly forgotten as they found each other’s lips, the moment turning into something real, something deep, something that had no words yet spoke knowingly of the future. 

When they broke apart, they stared at each other in surprise. Even though Draco had initiated the kiss, he looked as startled as Hermione felt. 

“Race you to the owl,” he told her, and both of them Apparated at once.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> * starred lyrics are from 'Fireball" by Deep Purple, ca 1972.


End file.
